Young Fredle - Louise Yates [5]
“Just a little bit,” the other would answer.
“Wow, I never—”
“Really good.”
When Fredle pushed the last bits of paper out of the way with his nose, he breathed in, breathed deep, before he opened his mouth to take a bite. The smell was so strong now, and so alluring, that he didn’t even think to call across to Axle to find out if she, too, had made her way through the wrapping. He wanted that taste in his mouth, right now. His teeth crunched through a thin, dark crust to the center, which was what he’d been smelling. With that first bite, his whole mouth filled with sweetness, sugary but more than sugary, entirely smooth and not at all chewy. It had two layers of taste, each wonderful in its own way, and they blended together to make—he took a second bite, then a third—the best taste he had ever had in his mouth.
All Fredle could see of Axle was her ears, one of them rounded and perfect, the other half the size of the first, as if some creature’s teeth had taken a big bite out of it—and that was pretty much what had happened, he thought now, bending his own head down to taste that flavor again.
Axle’s voice said, “I’m glad you’re the one I’m sharing this with, Fredle.”
Fredle couldn’t resist. “Since I’m the one who discovered it, I’d say I’m sharing it with you.”
“We found it, little cousin. We’re a team.”
For a long time they ate in happy silence, and still there was a wide expanse of the food remaining between them. Fredle’s stomach was full but his mouth was not tired of the taste, so he kept on taking little nibbles. Axle came around to sit down heavily beside him.
“Whumph! How can you still be eating?”
“It’s so good. Do you have any idea what it might be?”
Axle shook her head. “I know it’s something I never had before, but that could be a lot of things. Soup, olives … there’s something called whoopie pie. I’ve heard the words, but I don’t know what they are.”
“I bet no mouse ever had this before. If he had, we’d have heard about it.” Fredle decided that maybe he would take a rest, so they sat together for a while, quiet and contented and excited and pleased with themselves.
Then, “Which of them hid it, and why hide it?” Fredle wondered. “It’s definitely hidden, way back here behind these stacks.”
“Maybe Missus was hiding it from Mister,” Axle suggested.
“Or Mister was hiding it from Missus.”
“We can be sure it wasn’t the baby.” Axle laughed a mouse’s squeaking laugh.
“What other words haven’t you tasted?” Fredle asked.
“Oh, lots. I forget most of them. Stew and candy bar and flour, although I think flour might be those white powdery grains that are sometimes left on the floor—you know, the ones that are finer than salt and don’t taste as good. There’s custard and cocoa, too. I can’t remember half of the words I’ve heard. There’s something called kibbles. Don’t you wish you could take a taste of something called kibbles?”
“I’m going to have a little more of this,” Fredle said. “I’ve rested long enough. I can fit more in and it tastes … I’ve never even imagined anything that tasted this sweet, whatever it is. Maybe it’s kibbles.”
“It could be.”
“They might come to take it away during the day while we’re asleep,” Fredle pointed out. “We should eat as much as we possibly can.”
So Axle, beside him, began eating again at the kibbles, if that was what it was, and the two of them ate on, until they really could not take another bite. And still, Fredle loved the way that at each new bite his mouth filled up once again with rich, fresh, soft sweetness.
At last, however, he had to stop, and he and Axle returned along the pantry shelf to the little hole they had squeezed through. Fredle couldn’t make himself scurry fast, even though he knew that until he was back behind the wall he wouldn’t be safe, but he tried to hurry, slipping behind stacked plates and glass measuring cups, past piles of spare candles, until at last he saw